And They All Fall Down
by delz04
Summary: Losing this war was not an option. And so she carried on.


_This was written for Ashley (offbeatorbit) as a secret santa gift as part of the Jily Secret Santa exchange 2012 on Tumblr. Some Lily-centric, war related angst for you all. Merry Christmas._

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**And They All Fall Down**

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Lily couldn't remember the last time she'd slept – _really_ slept – without waking up to an alarm at an ungodly hour, or bolting upright covered in sweat from a nightmare, or tossing and turning all night on the floor during a stakeout.

She figured it must have been before she left Hogwarts. But even then, she'd been exhausted all through N.E.W.T.s; studying and telling herself she had time to sleep later. But then school had ended so abruptly, and she couldn't remember anything between walking out of her last exam and looking back up at the castle as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of Hogsmeade station, taking her home for the last time.

She certainly hadn't slept much in those first two months out of school; those months where she'd been living out her trunk at her parents house while she and James looked for a flat, and fought with Petunia over why her 'freak of a boyfriend _is_ welcome in the family home, thank you very much, although she couldn't say the same about her sister's whale of a husband and what did it matter now that she didn't live here anyhow?' and gone out with the James and the boys every other night, and moved in with James, and – No, she certainly hadn't gotten much sleep after she'd moved in with James. Not that she minded much. He'd certainly made it worth her while.

Lily Evans was tired. It was the sort of exhaustion that seeps into your bones so slowly you don't notice it, until one night you open the door to your flat in the early hours of the morning, slide down the back of the door, curl up on the timber floorboards and decide that nothing – not a shower, not food, not the promise of a blanket – is a good enough reason to move. Because you could stay there forever – really you could – and in your head you're wondering if the floorboards have always been this welcoming, this comfortable. And that sort of exhaustion never really goes away. But Lily Evans knew that. Lily Evans knew that well.

She also knew that there was a war going on. A war that directly affected the people around her, and whilst she was tired of fighting she knew that not fighting wasn't an option. Not really. Because if she didn't fight there was a chance that they could lose, and if they lost – which they wouldn't, because Lily Evans refused to entertain the thought that they might – then what would happen to the muggle-borns and blood traitors, half-bloods and half-breeds that came after she was gone? What would happen to the tiny dark haired boys she saw running round James's legs, even though when she blinked she realised he'd never really been there in the first place?

Losing this war was not an option. And so she carried on.

James helped. Dear God, did James help. When he came home to find her passed out on the floor again – lacking the energy to even make it to the couch – he'd pick her up and take her to bed, only to kiss her forehead when he had to go out again a few hours later. She often woke to the sound of the front door closing in the other room, only to roll over and find his side of the bed was still warm, that his pillow still smelt like him, and that the mirror in the bathroom was still fogged up from his shower not long before. Lily found she could never return to sleep after he left the flat, though. Because as soon as James stepped out that door without her, her stomach would churn with worry, and her heart would ache with longing for him to come back; to come back to bed with her and stay there until they grew old; under the blankets where the monsters they were fighting to destroy couldn't find them, and where they would sleep and tell secrets and whisper sweet nothings in each others ears the same way they'd wasted Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons back at school.

When James wasn't around, Sirius was, and if Sirius was busy, it would be Remus. If Remus was unavailable, Peter would stop by. She was never left alone, and for that she was grateful. She loved them; her boys; her lost, lost boys. Because as soon as they walked through her door they were causing mischief and poking around and complaining loudly and reminding her that, really, they hadn't grown up just yet, that maybe they never would, regardless of what responsibilities the world threw at them. But they had to leave sometime, and, when they did, they left their easy grins and carefree attitudes with her, because nothing could really help them outside that door.

She loved it when she and James were posted on missions together. When instead of easing himself out from under the covers in the mornings, he'd bury his face into her neck, covering her exposed skin in kisses until she would giggle and sleepily open her eyes, smiling at him as he pulled her to the shower before he'd proceed to make a fool of himself until she laughed. She didn't mind getting out of bed then, because she knew that she got to walk out that door with him, and not wake up to a note in the kitchen and a freshly used mug in the sink. She didn't mind getting out of bed then at all, because she knew that wherever they were going, they were going together and she could be there for him if something went wrong, not left at home to worry until she made herself sick.

Lily Evans was tired; tired of the prejudice, tired of the threats. She was tired of the anxiety, tired of the fighting. But in all honesty, she was tired of being tired. She was tired living like this, because it certainly wasn't the adventure they'd all thought it would be when they'd left school, and she was tired of having to fight for every single win, when they only had to wake up the next morning to discover that their side had taken a far larger loss.

Lily Evans was tired, but she was also loved. To her boys, she was a mother, a sister, a friend. To others, she was a helping hand, a shoulder to cry on and a reminder that there was still good out there, somewhere, if only they looked. To James, she was his lover, his soul mate, his _everything_, and dear God, James was the only reason Lily got out of bed some mornings.

Lily Evans was war weary, exhausted, tired. But she was also hope and love and kindness and faith, and so she kept on going, leaning on James when she needed to, but going none the less; for her boys, for her friends, for strangers she'd never met, and for that little black haired boy that she sometimes saw run around James's legs. All because, one day, she didn't want him to disappear when she blinked.


End file.
